Little things
by alltheracoons
Summary: John isn't feeling too well. Sherlock notices. Implied Johnlock, slightly-self-conscious!Sherlock, and appreciative!John.


_From the moment that John got up, Sherlock knew that he was stressed. At breakfast, he could tell by the way his fingers moved on the phone key pad that he was texting his most recent girlfriend about a break up. He had seen the bank statement, and deducted that not only had he had money taken off of his pay from his job, his bank had messed up most of his bills, all of which he had to sort out today. It took Sherlock five minutes to make the list, one extra to plan it all out and get the necessary information off of the internet. About a second to smile, and then he stopped counting as he ran out with his card and coat to the Shops._

John couldn't believe it. First his girlfriend, then the job cuts, and now this. He had really thought things were going okay with her. It was all because of Sherlock's oh-so-witty comments. No, it wasn't his fault. Yes it was. But still, he found it so hard to blame the consulting detective when he was so child-like; Sherlock was a complete, absolutely brilliant genius, almost freakishly smart at times, but he knew so little of the world and society's standards. He never payed attention when John was upset, but when he remembered that he's his friend, then it's like he actually really cares about him. Still, John can't be bothered by another damn mystery to sort out alone whilst he walks to the bank. Even if that mystery is everything to him, it doesn't make him feel any better. He'd love to sit down and watch a movie with him, have a cup of tea and just listen to him talk, but he know's that Sherlock's probably to busy freezing mutated cow genes to bother with him.

_Fifty eight, fifty nine, sixty. Sherlock opens the oven door bang on time, and pauses, closing his eyes as he takes in the gorgeous smell of Jam tarts. His confidence high and reason low, he opens his eyes to the tray of tarts. Completely bubbled over, overfilled, and stuck to his now ruined tray._ _"What? Why-" He wonders aloud, before noticing the bold red print at the bottom of the paper. 'Note: Do not fill to top, fill around two thirds of the way up.'. He supposed that it should have been evident to him why. One tray and much more rushed pastry making later, Sherlock was covered from head to toe in flour, a perfect tray of hot tarts were cooling on the fridge, John's entire Harry Potter series was out, as way a tray with biscuits and a tea pot, ready to be filled promptly before John came home, and the kitchen... oh god. Oh god the kitchen!_

Brilliant. Just brilliant. He finally had all of that sorted out, (bar his girlfriend, to whom he had avoided all contact with), and now he got to go home to violins and possibly a case that he had missed. Sighing, he started up the car engine and made his way home. Well, at least he got to hear Sherlock's voice. That was something.

_Everywhere cleaned, the violin away, and with less than a minute to go, Sherlock smiled as he saw John leave his car through the window. But soon enough, his smile faded and the long belated embarrassment and anxiety settled in. Jesus Christ. What had he done? His flat mate may or may not have had a rough day, and he had gone fully insane and thought that he knew how to fix it, that's what he'd done. This was stupid, John would hate this. He'll just want to lie down, he won't- oh god, Sherlock could hear his footsteps. Calm, Sherlock. Come on, he must be grateful for this. He has to be. He knows for certain that he loves jam, and he hadn't shut up about Harry Potter. He always had tea after a hard day. So what was he worried about? Oh. Right. Sherlock had gone to all this effort for John just to please him. And Sherlock wasn't even surprised. Pathetic really. Absolutely ridiculous how much he just wanted John to be happy. John was going to think he was obsessed. Maybe he was. Oh god, Sherlock was an idiot. Door opening. Well, no going back now. Sherlock prepared himself for the worst of taunting._

Opening the door, John's spirits couldn't have been lifted any higher any quicker. Everything he loved. Everything he indulged in, or enjoyed, or really cared about, all in one room. And the thing that he cared for the most was standing in the middle of it, giving a nervous smile. Sherlock Holmes, nervous. It was the most adorable thing he had ever seen, and the first time that he'd seen it. But he didn't smile. Didn't say a word, or even remove his coat. He just walked up to the now smile-less but still nervous Sherlock and just hugged him. Because he noticed. Sherlock had noticed all these little things that had upset, and had lifted him with the perfect day just when he needed it. This would not be forgotten.


End file.
